QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM TALLINN
Sex work, disability, and liberation intersect in this energetic drama from writer and director Junna Chiff. Set in Montreal, Nadia Essadiqi plays Elizabeth, a sex worker who is transitioning to burlesque performance after grappling with shame about her profession. Having shut down her profile on an escort site, she gets one last email – a man with a disability who has not had the opportunity to have sex, and wishes to hire her to do so. Intrigued by the situation, she meets with him, and the encounter opens up a new world where she begins learning to accommodate clients with disabilities. Along the way, she has her prejudices exposed, and finds kinship in a community that is treated as invisible by society.
Elizabeth becomes the audience’s point-of-view as one-by-one preconceptions are smashed as her list of clients grows. Lessons about seeing the people behind the disabilities are expected but well delivered, and done so with the frustration of those feel overlooked. There is also some clever subversion of its own narrative path, such as when Elizabeth encounters a client who has had sex regularly, and simply wishes to hire a sex worker tailored to his access needs. There are moments that feel slightly more informational than emotional, but for the most part the characters are at the centre. After all, that’s the point.
The subject of sex and disability is also something that doesn’t get covered in cinema too often. Chif’s film, with its dry humour and intent to challenge assumptions, is reminiscent of Ben Lewin’s 2012 drama The Sessions, which followed a similar path. Rather than being elicit, this expression of sexuality only helps to add texture to the characters, underlining the personalities and desires that are ignored when people only see a condition.
The parallel of judgement between people with disabilities and sex workers is cleverly framed through Elizabeth’s poetry group, which is comprised of people also in her profession. In these scenes, performers express the secrecy, condemnation, and danger of what they do. Like Elizabeth’s clients they also feel dismissed, and these segments become some of the most powerful in the film. It allows her to not just be a bystander to others’ stories, but weave them into her own without stealing the spotlight.
Essadiqi delivers a strong performance in the lead, having the dual challenge of intimate sex scenes and a complicated character arc. She begins as a curious, perhaps slightly patronising do-gooder, and through her work transforms into a defiant celebrator of difference, both in terms of the community she works with and in herself. Rather than using a group for her own progression, the film pleasingly invites her (and you) to join the front line of protest.
Of the supporting cast, Stéphane Crête stands out as François, a client whom forms an emotional connection with Elizabeth, but seems to struggle with the labels that both of them carry. While occasionally messages can be telegraphed, particularly during the closing moments, Invisibles is as passionate as its lead. As the story progresses, we begin to see that the only thing that isn’t “normal” is sorting human beings into categories.
Invisibles just premiered in the Critics’ Picks section of the 29th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.
